


The Gold Motel: Lost Boy

by mrgoldsdearie



Series: The Gold Motel [9]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Child Abuse, F/M, Gen, Gore, Horror, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-13 00:38:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4501104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrgoldsdearie/pseuds/mrgoldsdearie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little Norman Gold spend his early life living with his abusive father Malcolm Gold. Norman meets Papa, who promises to protect him from his real father. Malcolm Gold meets his untimely fate. (These events take place from 1967 to 1977 and back to the present.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gold Motel: Lost Boy

**Author's Note:**

> This was very hard for me to write and it was the first time I have written anything like this. I hope I don’t offend anyone that have lived through child abuse. (I am one that haven’t lived through it myself, so don’t mean to hurt anyone with this.) I am happy with the way it turned out. I did cry a lot and put a lot of myself into writing this. Please let me know what you think and happy reading.

Malcolm Gold and his six year old son Norman, crosses the town line, in a grey and white pick up truck, into their new home of Storybrooke, Maine. Norman is excited to be in a different place. A new town and a new home means a new life for the young boy. He knows that this is the beginning of change, because his father told him that it was.

"W-w-where are we g-g-gonna live, Papa?" The boy asks, gazing out of the window at the thick forest around them as the sun slowly sets behind the trees.

"You'll see soon enough," he speaks with a thick Scottish accent, scratching his bearded face. "We're not far."

"Yes, Papa."

Malcolm drives through the forest several more miles and pulls into the driveway of an old abandoned motel, with a large Victorian manor resting on a hill behind it.

Norman's eyes widen with amazement at the sight of the old lot. He never imagined they'd have such a massive place to live. "W-w-we get to live here?"

"Yes.” He looks at his son with a dim smile on his face. “We're gonna fix this old place up and people are going to come from all over just to stay in it." He stops the truck in front of the motel office and turns off the engine. "My life is going to be different in this town and it's about time that I did something for myself."

"Isn't m-m-my life gonna be different too, Papa? You s-s-said things were going to change for both of us."

Malcolm's upper lip shivers as he slowly fumes with anger. He hates when Norman turns the attention on himself. He quickly snaps his head towards the child, staring coldly at him with lowered brows. "I know what the fuck I said," he barks through his teeth. "I don't need you to remind me. I always have to think about you, I fucking know that!"

Norman flinches in his seat. He hates when his father gets that twitch his eye. Nothing good ever comes from that expression.

"For once I wanted a moment to think about myself and you just had ruined it!"

"I'm s-s-sorry, Papa!" Norman whimpers, as tears burn in his eyes. Things aren't starting out any differently.

"Get out of the goddamn truck," Malcolm orders.

"Yes, Papa." Norman fumbles with the handle, but manages to open the door. He quickly grabs his special blue and white tea cup from the dashboard and hops out of his seat, shutting the door behind him. The little boy stands by his father's truck, with his cup, and shaking with fear.

Malcolm leans over the seat and rolls down the passenger window. "We just got here and you've already started your shit," he scolds his son. "You get up there by the office door and you fucking stay!"

"Yes, P-p-papa." Norman wipes the tears in his eyes, scurrying up to the office door.

Malcolm starts the truck and pulls away from the building. "You better not fucking move!" He hollers out the window as he drive back out into the road, leaving his son behind.

This isn't the first time Malcolm has left his son in a strange place. He's done it many times since the death of Norman's mother.

Norman sits outside of the locked office door, scared, confused and crying, with only his mother's old teacup to keep him company. He doesn't know how long his father will be gone this time, but he isn't going to move from his place like he's done before. Norman wants to try to show Malcolm that he can be a good boy and listen to his father.

The child has never felt so lost.

Four hours later, the truck returns, stopping in front of the office, and a drunk Malcolm Gold steps out. He had found the town's only diner with a bar and he couldn't help himself from stopping for a drink. Taking care of his son or unpacking to settle into their new home, wasn't a priority for Malcolm. He staggers up to the door, where his son lays sleeping on the solid concrete porch, and unlocks it, stepping over Norman to enter the office.  

Malcolm observes the room, with his double vision, and stumbles upon a door in the back of the office. He opens the door and it's a parlor with a couch and small table inside. Malcolm collapse on the couch, almost instantly falling asleep, leaving his boy sleeping outside on the hard cold ground to spend his first night in a new town.

 

##  *********

**~ Two years later ~**

The Gold Motel has officially been open for the past two years and business has not been running the way Malcolm had hoped. This motel was supposed to be his dream come true and the start of a better life for himself.

Norman Gold is eight years old and he does what he's told to keep the motel going. He cleans the linens and the bathrooms, when they do have customers, even checking them in when his father is too drunk to do so. Norman's life is different from the sheep farm they had in Scotland, he now works a lot more than an eight year old child should do. Most days he doesn't mind running the motel, but sometimes he misses the black highland cow, Jock the little white westie dog, the sheep and the open field they used to have on the farm. At least there, he had friends to talk too.

Everyday is not that same, however, and little Norman Gold does favor the ones where his father seems to be happy. Those are the days he can almost feel the love that Malcolm has for him, but those days don't happen often.

Malcolm is a distant and closed off father to his son. He wouldn't talk to Norman at all, if he didn't have to. He never wanted children and almost left Norman's mother when he found out that she was pregnant. He knew he was never cut out to be a father, but there was nothing he could do once he decided to stay with Norman's mother He never expected her to die a few years later. Malcolm drinks to drown his depression away, missing the kind of life he thinks he should have had, had he not became a father. The current state of the motel business only makes his depression and drinking more unhealthy and sometimes he takes resentment out on his son.

##  **~*~**

After being left home alone for hours once again, Norman is fast asleep in his bedroom on the second floor of the manor. It's 2am and he's suddenly awaken by the loud crash of the front door slamming shut and the full-mouthed laughter of two people that have entered the house. Norman jumps out of bed and flies down the stairs. He knows that it's his father coming home from the bar, but he's still curious of all of this commotion. He makes it halfway down the stairs and stops when he sees Malcolm on the living room couch with a dark haired woman with pale skin standing above him. Norman quickly crouches down on his knees, watching his father and the woman from behind the stair railing.

"How does someone like you get a place like this." The woman puts her arm around Malcolm's neck and straddles on his lap, facing him.

"What do you mean someone like me?" He massages her breast above her button down shirt.

"You don't exactly seem like the type that comes from money."

"Well, that's because I'm not." He licks his lips, aching to taste this strange woman again.

"So, how did you do it, big boy?" She combs her fingers through his short brown hair. "Let me in on the secret to scoring a mansion like this."

"Just a little game of follow the lady."

"How do you get this place from a card game?"

"Let's just say I play with the right people."

"Huh," she snickers and leans into his ear. "You cheated them, didn't you?" she whispers, nibbling on the side of his neck.

"You know I did, baby." He rubs his hands down her back. "I got a couple of high rollers that thought they can crack my system, but they never did. I always had the sleight of hand."

"Now that's why you were in a hurry to get out of Scotland. Someone figured you out."

"Something like that." He fills his hands with her ass and tightens his grip. "I'm sick of talking. You can just shut up and kiss me."

"Mmm, alright." She presses her lip firmly against his, closing her eyes and rubbing her fingers through his beard.

Norman's eyes widen from his view on the steps. He's never seen his father kissing a woman before.

The woman slips her tongue into Malcolm mouth, opening her eyes and a shadow on the staircase catches her attention. She breaks off the kiss and Malcolm rips open her shirt, burying his face into her cleavage. "I thought you said you didn't have children," she breaths heavily, holding the back of his head.

"I don't." He savagely pulls the rips shirt off of her shoulders.

"Then who's the little boy on the staircase?"

Malcolm feels as if the world has stopped spinning. "What?" He instantly turns around to find Norman on the stairs.

Norman is paralyzed, as he makes eye contact with his father. He desperately wants to move from his place, but his fear won't allow him.

"Get off of me," Malcolm snaps at the woman.

"Don't be too hard on him." She covers herself with the ripped shirt. "He's just a curious little boy. He didn't see nothin."

"I said get off!" He shoves her off of his lap and she falls to the hardwood floor.

Movement returns to Norman, as his father stands from the couch. He hops to his feet and sprints up the stairs.

"You stop right fucking there!" Malcolm points at the child and Norman stops in his tracks, daring not to make his father any more angrier.

"You don't have to be this way." The woman stands to her feet.

"And you can get the hell out of my house." Malcolm rushes to the woman and grabs her by the arm, dragging her to the front door.

"I should have known you were some fucking psycho,” she screeches.

Norman stand on the stairs, in his white and green crocodile pajamas, watching his father viciously throwing the woman out of the house.

"If you ever come back, I'll kill you, you fucking cunt!" He slams the door shut and turns to the frightened boy on the stairs. Malcolm takes a few deep breaths, calming himself, then addresses his son. "Come here Norman," he speaks in a low nonthreatening tone.

Norman beams at his father and his eye fills with terrified tears as his face burns crimson. The last thing he wants to do is get any closer to Malcolm. He never meant for any of this to happen. He was just about to leave when the woman caught him watching.

"Come here, son," he says once again, holding back the rage still brewing inside of him.

Norman shakes his head no.

"You think I'm going to hurt you, don't you?"

The boys wipes his tears, nodding his head yes.

"I promise not to hurt you, son." He steps closer to the staircase. "Now come here," he speaks through his teeth. "I'm not lying to you. I would never do that."

"You l-l-lie all the time, Papa," Norman whimpers.

The rage he was desperately trying to hide, fills in Malcolm's eyes. "You disobedient little shit!" he groans. "I've been nothing but good to you. I gave up my life so you could have yours and this is how you treat me." He slowly climbs up a step. "You spy on me with women." He takes another step. "You've ruined my whole fucking night!"

Norman quickly turns away, climbing the steps as fast as he can.

"Get back here you fucking pervert!" He chases after the boy and catches him by his right arm at the head of the stairs.

Norman shields his face with his left arm. "No, Papa! P-p-please stop!"

Malcolm yanks his arm down and violently shakes the boy. "I oughta throw you down these fucking steps."

"Please don't," Norman cries.

"Shut up!" He smacks the child across the face and Norman belts out a powerful cry. "I said shut the hell up." He slaps his hand across Norman's cheek again, then again, then again.

Norman breaks free from his father's vicious grip and escapes to the safety of the bathroom, locking himself inside.  

Malcolm throws himself against the bathroom door, beating his fist on the solid wood and yelling. "Look what you made me do!"

Norman climbs into bathtub, hiding behind the shower curtain. He curls himself into a ball, tucked tightly against the cold walls of the porcelain tub, crying uncontrollably in his knees.  

Malcolm suddenly stops hitting on the door and takes a step back, realizing what just happened, and feels absolutely nothing. He turns away from the bathroom and shuts himself in his bedroom to finish drinking from the bottle of scotch he has hidden under the bed.

Norman stays in the bathroom for the remainder of the night and sleeps in the bathtub, fearful that his father will attack him again.

The child has never felt so broken.

 

##  *********

**~ Four years later ~**

Norman Gold is now twelve years old and he lives in a world of isolation. He has no friends at school and sits in the back of the class, far away from everyone else. He doesn't think he can relate to the other children. Norman spends most of his days down at the motel and away from his father in the house. The abuse has gotten worse and escalates without reason, so he rather be alone than to be in the drunk man's reach. When Norman is alone in the office parlor, he let's his imagination run free, thinking of a life with a father that would protect him, instead of one that hurts him. Norman can spend hours staring at the wall in the parlor, living in a world in his mind where he has this brave protector, never feeling time passing by.

##  **~*~**

"What are you doing in here?" Malcolm gripes in the low tone that has become the normal way he speaks to his son and steps in front of Norman sitting on the couch in the office parlor.

Norman doesn't acknowledge his father. Even though he's standing in front of him, Norman's eyes beam through him.

"You hear me talking to you. I've been calling you in the house for the past fifteen minutes."

Norman continues staring off.

"You answer me when I speak to you!"

Norman has no reply.

Malcolm lifts his hand to the boy and sends it crashing down upon him, but Norman quickly stops it by taking hold of Malcolm's wrist before it hit him.

"Don't you fucking touch him." A strange stutter-less voice slips from the boy's lips.

Malcolm's jaw drops and he snatches his hand out of Norman's. "You didn't just talk to me like that, didn't you?"

"Who the hell else would I be speaking too." The child slowly stands to his feet and heads out of the parlor door.

Malcolm can't believe this odd behavior. Norman has never turned his back to him. "You get back here."

He turns back to Malcolm with a hardened expression on his face, there's a spark of fire in the back of the young boys eyes. Suddenly that fierce expression fades and Norman face softens back to the heavy frown he always carries. "Yes, P-p-papa." His stutter returns to him.

"What's gotten into you, boy? You spend hours down here or in your room staring off into outer space."

"N-n-nothing is wrong with me."

"You've been walking around the house at night and I've repeatedly told you to stop doing that."

"I haven't b-b-been walking around the house, Papa."

"Are you calling me a liar?" He growls, stepping closer to his son.

"No, sir." Norman lowers his head.

"I should smack you for the way you just talked to me."

"P-p-please don't, Papa!" Norman collapses to his knees, looking up to his father, begging not to be struck once again.

"I won't this time, but the next time you talk to me like that, I will beat you bloody."

Norman lowers his head and a high pitched giggle falls from his lips. "Not if I get to you first," he speaks in the odd voice again.

"I just showed you mercy and this is the thanks I get. More fucking back talk." He kicks the boy to the floor. "I dare you to say it to my face."

The child picks himself up to his knees from the linoleum floor and glares up at Malcolm with a twitch in his upper lip. "Not if I... Get!... You!... First!" The boy bark out and punches Malcolm Gold in the ball sack.

"Fuuuck!" Malcolm collapse to his knees, gripping tightly to his family jewels.

The young child look eye to eye with the man that just kicked him. "You're going to leave Norman alone, or you'll have to deal with me." He punches Malcolm as hard as he can in the nose and immediately storms out of the parlor, never looking back.

##  **~*~**

Three hours later Norman awakes in the cellar of the old Victorian manor, having lost time and unaware of what has happened. Norman crawls to the corner of the dark dank cellar, cradling his legs and buries his head in his knees, as frighten tears fall from his eyes.

"It's okay, Laddie." Norman speaks to himself in the strange voice.

"Who s-s-said that?" The child lifts his head, looking around the cellar, finding no one else inside.

"It's me, son. It's your Papa," Norman speaks to himself.

"M-m-my Papa?"

"Yes, Laddie. You don't remember, but we've spoken before, in a dream."

The child is starting to lose his grip on reality.

"Oh..." Norman sights out. "My Papa." A smile stretches upon his face, relieved to finally meet him in person. "You're h-h-hear, you're r-r-really here."

"You remember now," He stands to his feet, drying the tears on Norman's face, which is also his own.

Norman nods. "You're h-h-here to protect me."

"Yes, Norman. I'm going to take care of you and you don't have to listen to Malcolm anymore."

"I d-d-don't?"

"No you don't, but when I tell you that you have to do what he says, you listen to me."

"Yes, Papa."

"I'm going to get you away from him, but it's going to take some time. I promise to get you away."

"R-r-really?"

"I would never, ever, lie to you."

"H-h-how am I supposed to b-b-believe that?" Norman slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans, gazing down at the dusty floor.

"Remember in the dream when I promised to take you to the Miner's Day Festival?"

"Yes, but Papa said..."

"Don't call him Papa anymore," Papa speaks sternly to Norman for the first time. "You call him Malcolm. That man is no longer your father."

"Yes, Papa." Norman wipes his nose on the sleeve of his back and white checkered shirt. "Malcolm s-s-said I couldn't go."

"Well, you don't have to listen to him. I'm taking you, tonight." Papa rushes to the stack of old chairs on the other side on the cellar and takes one from the top. He places it under the small cellar window and stands upon it, then suddenly steps down.

"We s-s-shouldn't do this, Papa. M-m-malcolm's going to be upset."

"I don't gives a shit about Malcolm." He hops back onto the chair. "All I care about is you."

Norman's heart skips a beat. He's never heard that sentence in his life. "All you c-c-care about is me?" He steps down from the chair, still trying to process these words that his mind has jumbled.

"Yes, Laddie." He climb back on the chair and unlocks the window. "You're going to have some fun for once." He crawls out on the windows and runs to the shed to fetch Norman's bike, riding it all the way to Main Street Storybrooke and attends the festival.

##  **~*~**

At the festival, Papa drops Norman's bike off in the middle of a vacant parking space. "We're here, son, just like I promised."

Norman marvels and the spectacle around him. The bright lights, carnival sounds and the delightful aroma of greasy food and popcorn send energetic chills down Norman’s spine. He has lived in Storybrooke for seven years and has never seen the glorious sights of the festival.

"What do you want to do first, son?"

Norman looks around at all the rides on the lot and the spinning teacups instantly catches his eye. "I w-w-wanna get on that." He points to the cup that looks like his mothers.

"Then that's the one you will have." Papa runs over to the carnival ride and cuts to the front of the line for Norman.

"Hey kid! You can't cut,” the ride operator shouts.

"Norman wants to get on this ride now," Papa snarls through his teeth.

"I don't care who want to ride. You have to wait in line like everyone else."

"This is Norman's first time here and he shouldn't have to wait."

"Look kid. I don't know who Norman is, but he has to wait in line and pay his one dollar ticket like everyone else."

The child turns away from the ride operator. "It alright, P-p-papa, we don't have to ride," he speaks in Norman's voice and faces back to the ride operator.

"Yes you do. You're getting on this ride, Laddie."

The ride operator gawks at the boy confused, scratching his head, wondering why this child is openly talking to himself.

Norman turns away from the man. "We d-d-don't have any money, Papa," he says, then turns back to the operator.

"I'll fucking fix that." Papa thunders away from the ride and enters a large crowd of people in the concession area. Papa observes the crowd and eyes his target, a man who has just slipped a wallet into his back pocket. He speed walks up behind the man, bumps into him as he quickly glides his hand in the man back pocket, removing the wallet, and stuffs it into the front of his jeans.

The man instantly turns around after being crashed into. "Watch where the hell you're going kid."

"Sorry, sir." Papa calmly walks out of the crowded area. If there's one thing Papa did pick up from Malcolm, it was his sleight of hand. He gets far away from the concession area and removes the wallet from his pants. He counts out the money, twenty-three dollars, and tosses the wallet in the trash, then stands in line at the teacup ride.

The line moves quickly and Papa finds himself at the head once again and slaps two dollars in the ride operator's hand. "Norman wants to ride it twice."

The man is taken aback by the level of maturity that this twelve year old boy seems to display.

The young boy turns away from the ride operator. "I g-g-get to ride it twice, Papa?"

"Yes, Laddie."

"Are you c-c-coming with me?"

"This ride isn't for me. You go have fun and I'll watch you."

"Hey kid, would you mind getting on the ride? You're holding up the line," the man interrupts.

Papa turns to the man, steaming with anger, stepping up to him with lowered brows. No one is going to rush his son. He suddenly takes a step back and his face loses it's intensity.

The only thought running through the ride operator's mind, is that this is the strangest child he has ever seen.

"It's okay, Papa. W-w-we are holding up the line."

"Alright, Laddie." He turns away from the ride operator and heads to the teacups. "You get on the ride and have fun."

"Yes, Papa." Norman runs to the blue and white teacup and waves at the line of people waiting to ride next. With the brightest smile on his face, Norman joyously shouts, "I love you, Papa!"

"I love you too, son." He mumbles to himself.

The child has never felt so alive.

 

##  *********

 

**~ Four years later ~**

Sixteen year old Norman Gold has completely lost touch with the world around him and shares half of his life with his new papa.

Papa has kept his word and protects Norman from the villainous hands of Malcolm the best way that he can. There have been vicious battles between the two personalities, but Papa can't get Norman completely free from the drunk man's grip. Norman and Papa have tried running away together and Malcolm has caught them at very attempt, locking them away in the cellar for days.

Malcolm doesn't understand it, but knows there's something mentally wrong with his son and he doesn't care. He rather have the child suffer for the years he stole from his life. Though Malcolm doesn't like the boy or can bring himself to love him, he isn't going to let him leave. Malcolm is addicted to controlling his son and no one is going to take that domination away from him.

Fighting and running away isn't going to free Norman from the man that has broken him. Things are going to have to end in a more permanent state.  

##  **~*~**

Norman sits in the back of math class, on this Monday afternoon, with two hours left before the bell let's out for the day. He doesn't mind being at school, it's another escape from Malcolm, as long as he doesn't have to interact with anyone.

"Norman? Would you like to come up and solve the problem?" Mrs. Blanchard asks.

Norman lifts his head from the desk and stares at the problem from the his seat. He doesn't understand the math equation, he's been left out of school for a week. "I d-d-don't think I can, miss," he timidly replies.

"Why don't you come up and try. I can show you how it's done."

Norman slouches down into his seat, trying to hide himself from the attention suddenly set upon him.

"The stuttering baby doesn't even know and I'm not surprised." The boy in the front row hurls a wad of paper at Norman.

Norman slouches down even further.

"You need to stop that August or I'll kick you out of class," the teacher orders. "Are alright, Norman?"

"Yes, miss." He nods.

"I want you to pay close attention and I'll show you how it's done." She turns her back to the students and solves the equation step by step on the black board.

August wads up more balls of paper and tosses them at Norman behind Mrs. Blanchard's back. "You big fucking baby," he mutters harshly.

Norman's breathing increases and his body trembles with anger. He can feel Papa surfacing, ready to explode on this disrespectful kid and rip out his fucking throat. He stands to his feet, fuming with rage, and a dark brunette girl with a faint scar above her lip, stands at the same time as he.

"Leave him alone August." Her voice echoes across the classroom. "Don't you see he doesn't like it. None of us think you're funny."

Her words send shivers down Norman's spine and they stopped Papa from surfacing. Norman has never had anyone defend him, other than Papa, and he isn't sure what to do. He's embarrassed to have even more attention on him and he doesn't think he deserves the girls defense. He just wishes people would ignore him like they do everyday. Norman gathers his backpack and stuffs his book inside, then scurries out of the classroom, holding his bag tightly against his secondhand black and white stripped shirt.

The girls follows behind him and stops him in the hall by placing her hand on his shoulder.

Norman flinches and stumbles back against the line of lockers on the wall. "P-p-please don't touch me."

"I'm sorry, Norman." She steps away from him. "I just wanted to apologize for the way that asshole acted and to make sure you were okay."

Norman looks up into her deep hazel eyes, seeing nothing but kindness in them. "I'm f-f-fine, Regina."

"Are you sure? You don't look fine."

"I am." He swings his backpack around his shoulders. "I'm okay, D-d-dearie."

"Alright. Are you going home?"

"Yes." He nods. "Malcolm w-w-will he happy he d-d-didn't have to pick me up today." Picking up Norman from school is Malcolm's way of keeping track of him. 

"Would you like me to give you a ride? I know you live up at that old motel. That's a long walk from here."

"I d-d-don't know." He slips his hand into the pockets of his worn bell bottoms, looking down at his untied black converse.

"I insist. You shouldn't have to walk all that way."

Norman doesn't understand why this girl is being kind to him or why anyone would, but he gratefully accepts her offer. Walking home from school would had taken longer than two hours to get there and Malcolm surely would have been out looking for him.

The two teenagers walk out of school together to Regina's 1977 Mercedes, then they ride in an awkward silence straight to The Gold Motel.

"C-c-can you stop here, please?" Norman doesn't want Malcolm to see Regina's car or that he's with a girl, so he asks her to stop just before entering the motel lot.

"Alright." She presses her boot clad foot on the break.

"Th-th-thank you." He rushes out of the car and shuts the door.

"Wait!"  

He turns back to her, clutching his bag against his chest. "Yes?"

"Are you going to be at school tomorrow?"

"Yes," he quickly answers and circles away.

"Hold on!" she says with a chuckle in her voice.

He faces her once again, wondering what more she could possibly want.

"I just wanted to say that you are missed when you're not in class."

Norman's cheeks bloom a pink tinge and he combs his fingers through his shaggy hair. Those are the sweetest words a girl has ever spoken to him, but he can't speak any words to return her kindness.

Regina feels as if she's embarrassed him enough, and herself. "Okay, I'll let you go now." She puts the car in drive. "Bye, Norman."

"Bye, Regina." He stands back and watches her drive away. Once he can no longer see the car, he heads up the long gravel driveway to the house.

"You like that girl, don't you Norman?" Papa's voice slips from Norman's lips.

"She was kind to m-m-me."

"She looked like a little whore to me."

Norman stops walking and turns around like he's talking to someone behind him. "Th-th-that's not nice, Papa." He turns back to the direction of the house and continues walking.

"All I'm saying is that women are trouble and you don't need them, Laddie. You have me."

"Yes, Papa." Norman dashes up to the house and let's Malcolm know that he's home.

"What are you doing out of school early?" Malcolm peels himself up from the living room couch, knocking over his bottle of beer.

Norman doesn't want to tell the truth that he left because he was getting picked on. "I-I-I... Umm... I..." He can't think of any good lies.

"It doesn't matter." He picks up the bottle and drink what didn't spill out. "That fucking stutter is so annoying. Get your ass down to the motel. Someone checked in and you need to make sure they're taken care of."

"Yes, Malcolm." Norman drops his book bag on the floor and runs down to the motel office.

At the motel, Norman checks in with the couple in room four, then sits in the parlor alone with his thoughts. He thinks about the kind girl that brought him home and wants to do something to thank her, since he was too shy to speak. Norman doesn't do well in most of his classes, but there is one class that he looks forward to everyday, shop class. Norman loves building things with his hands and felt like the luckiest boy when he was able to attend shop everyday during the week they learned about restoring antiques. There is a bunch of old furniture in the shed behind the manor that was left by previous owners. Norman has searched through that junk many times and knows that there's a musical jewelry box stashed among the dusty furniture. He's going to find that box and fix it to give to the kindest girl he has ever met.

Norman knows that Papa would never approve of this gift to Regina. So he waits for a time when he doesn't feel him lingering around in his mind.

##  **~*~**

Four hours after coming home from school early, Norman no longer feels Papa's presents in his head so he quickly make the move to finding the box and fixing it without him knowing.

Norman finds the musical jewelry box sitting under two stacked tables. He un-stacks the tables and uses the old tools he also found in the shed to fix the box for a girl he'd like to call his friend.

An hour after starting work on the box and getting the musical elements working again, Malcolm Gold crashes into the shed, looking for his son. "Where the hell are you?" He slams the door to the old wooden shed.

Norman quickly grabs his box and hides under the work table.

"I know you're in here, because you're not in that fucking parlor." He slowly searches the shed. "You know how much I hate having to look for you and how pissed off I get."

Norman scoots deeper under the table, clutching tightly to the music box.

Malcolm notices tools sitting out on top of a table and knows that Norman has found a hobby in fixing things. He rushes to the table and turns it over, finding the frightened teenage boy underneath. "You don't seem to have that fight in you today." He stands over the shivering child. "What's wrong with you? Sometime you fight back, but mostly you just shrivel up and piss yourself."

Norman doesn't look at Malcolm. He keeps his eyes tightly shut, holding on to the most important thing in his life right now.

"What do have there, boy?" He reaches down to take the box.

Norman fights to keep hold of the music box. Malcolm is the last person in the world he wants touching it. "No, Malcolm!"

He sees that bit of fight pushing through Norman and he knocks it out of him by kicking him down to the floor, snatching the box from Norman's vice-like-grip. He opens the box and the Carousel Waltz starts to play. Hearing this cheerful little lullaby only angers the hateful man more. "Why are you fixing this? It's for some girl, isn't it?"

Norman picks himself up from the floor, sitting on his knees. "P-p-please, just give it back."

"This box is important to you?"

"Yes."

"Good." He chucks the box against the wall behind Norman, smashing it to smithereens.

When the box makes contact with the wall, Norman's heart rate increases and his eyes burn with tears that won't fall. It was the only thing he had to show his application to a friend.

"That is what you've done to my life," Malcolm howls, pointing at the shattered box. "Ever since I laid eyes on you... The littlest babe with those big, big eyes full of tears... All you wanted to do was pull at me... Pull at everything I have... Pulling away my name, my money, my time. I never asked for this!"

Norman crawls to the destroyed music box and shifts through the pieces.

"You were here to take away any hope of making my life into something better for myself. You were this pink, naked, squirming little larva that wanted to eat my dreams alive and never stop!"

Norman's breathing beings to slow as his eyes are fixed on the music box piece and his mind begins to enter a trance like state.

The child has reached his absolute limit.

"And you're still here, but I'll never let you go. I'm going to make sure your life is just as miserable as mine." He turns away from Norman and marches to the door. "You clean up this shit and get your ass in the house."

Norman sits motionless on the dusty floor of the old shed, staring into the void of his fractured dream.

##  **~*~**

Almost an hour later, Norman takes a deep breath and stands to his feet. He slowly circles around and walks out of the shed, remaining in a hypnotic state, making his way into the house from the kitchen door.

Malcolm Gold sits at the kitchen table, eating a supper he made for himself (eggs in a basket) and address Norman as he enters the house. "You came just in time. Make me a cup of tea," he orders the child.

Norman shuffles to the cabinet behind his father's chair and takes out an old solid white tea cup. He crouches down to the cabinet under the sink and pulls out a box of rat poison. All behind his unsuspecting father's back, Norman pours the entire box into the kettle of tea Malcolm already had brewing.

"You better be making it the way I like it." Malcolm shoves more food down his gullet.

Norman slowly creeps to the pantry and removes the sugar, then he goes to the refrigerator for the milk and makes this demonic man (The man that has beaten and destroyed a helpless child.) his final cup of freshly brewed tea, just the way he likes it. Norman serves the poison laced tea and sits the kettle on the table next to him. He then stands by the sink and stares out of the window, while his father finishes his meal.

"I see you're having one of those fits again." Malcolm takes a large gulp of the tea, never tasting an extra ingredient. "I should probably get you checked out for those. I might be able to receive a large check from it." He refills his cup.

Norman stands frozen in his place.

Malcolm finishes the cup of tea and suddenly feels a burning in his throat. He starts to cough and hack, then drinks more tea to try to get that sensation out.

Norman remains deathly still.

His choking grows more aggressive and he coughs up blood. Now he suspects that his son has done something to him. "What did you do you little shit!" He gasps between words, gagging on blood and it drips from his mouth onto the plate of food. His eye turn red and liquid floods from them, as he makes an attempt to stand, but he knees buckle under his own weight.

Norman turns to the table and watches his father violently fighting for his life, moaning and scratching at the wooden table. The teenage boy serenely treads to the stove and picks up the heavy cast iron skillet, and with the plainest most emotionless expression on his face, he whacks Malcolm Gold in the back of the head.

Malcolm's body stiffens and he topples forward, face down, into the plate of bloody food.

The tea cup on the table tumbles to the floor and smashes on contact, marking an end to Malcolm's reign of terror.

Norman stands, like a zombie, over his father's twitching body and the skillet slips from his hand, falling to the floor. "Villains don't get happy ending," he speaks softly in the clearest voice. Norman remind transfixed in his place, beaming daggers into Malcolm lifeless body.

##  **~*~**

Twenty minutes pass and the teenage boy's head falls back. He blinks his eyes clearing his vision, as he looks around the room, and his eyes instantly fall on the body on the kitchen table. He gulps down a sharp breath, as he steps closer to look upon the still man. He rests his hands down flat on the table and lowers himself level to Malcolm's body, getting a closer glimpse. He places his right hand on the back of Malcolm's head, gripping his hair and lifts it up from the plate.

Blood and vomit ooze out from the dead man mouth.

The boy let's go of the head and it slams against the table and the teenager's face flares with intense fury. "Look what you did to him," the child mumbles under his breath. "Look what you made... Him... Do!" He raves, shoving the body off the table and tears of anger fall from his face. "You turned him into a monster!" Papa shouts and storms to the other side of the table. He stand above the body and collapses to his knees, sitting on Malcolm's chest. He grips both sides of Malcolm's head and lifts it up, then slams the back of his skull into hardwood floor. "Look what you fucking did!" He picks it up again and slams it back down. "You!... Broke!... My!... Son!..." He smashes his head into the floor with every syllable, then crashes it down again, and again, and again.

Malcolm's head cracks open like an egg from all the blunt forced trauma and blood begins pooling underneath him.

Papa breaths heavily with his face covered in sweat and blood, as he wipes his bloody hand on the front of Malcolm's shirt. "Now I have to get rid of you," he groans through his teeth, standing to his feet and runs out of the kitchen door to the shed, gathering the shovel. He brings it back with him to the house and slams the shovel down on the kitchen table. He gazes around the room, thinking of a plain to handle this situation. Norman can never know of any of it. Papa dashes through the door into the living room, down the cellar stairs behind the main staircase and unlocks the cellar door. Papa and Norman has spent countless days locked away in this cellar and they know every inch of it's stone walls and floors. He goes to the area of the floor that he knows has loose stones and starts to tear them out from the ground with his bare hands. "I'm sorry, Norman," he speaks between breaths, stacking the loose stone flooring. "I should have been there for you. I should have stopped you!" He breaks down to his knees and sobs in his hands. "I've failed,” his voice rattles as he wipes his nose on the back of his blood and mud stained hands. "I promised to do one thing for you and I fucking failed!" He screams from the top of his lungs. "What kind of father am I, when I can't protect my own son." Papa hates himself in this moment and he cries tears of a broken heart. Norman was just an innocent boy who had his innocence ripped from him by a savage man and Papa never wanted this to happen. "Never again." He picks himself up and continues moving stones. "I'm going to keep you safe, no matter what, and I will be the one that will kill to do it." Papa removes enough stones that will leave a large enough space for digging, then he makes his way back up to the kitchen to collect the body and the shovel.

He thinks quickly and grabs a trash bag from underneath the sink to cover Malcolm's draining head so that blood doesn't stain all over the house. After tying up the head and moving it away from the pool of blood, Papa begins to drag the body out of the kitchen by the legs.

Papa is finding the move more difficult than he thought, dead weight is a lot heavier. Though Papa thinks of himself as a man, he has the body of a sixteen year old boy and Malcolm was a lot larger than he. He struggles with getting the body out of the kitchen, but manages to do so and drags it effortlessly through the living room.

He walks backwards as he slowly pulls the body down the cellar staircase, step by step, as the back of Malcolm's head hits every one. Even though Papa covered the head, fluid still drips from the body because of the poison thinning the blood. He notices the track of body liquid dragging on the steps and losses his balance, crashing down to the bottom of the stairs, hitting his back against the wall. "Fuck!" He shouts out, rubbing the back of his head. He opens his eyes as the body quickly slides down the stairs. Papa moves out of the way, but he doesn't move his right leg fast enough and the body lands on his ankle, twisting it, but not breaking it. "Fuck!" He cries out again and removes his foot from under the heavy body. "I can't wait till I'm fucking rid of you!" Papa's face reddens as he yells at the body, kicking it repeatedly with his left foot. His right leg bucks under the aggressive kicking and he almost falls again, but this time he catches himself on the wall. He rapaciously takes hold of the of Malcolm's legs and gimps backwards, dragging the body into the cellar.

Papa spends the entire night, digging the grave, burying the body and cleaning the house, using the cleaning supplies from the motel maintenance closet. All so Norman will never know of what he was capable of doing. Papa loves the sweet boy that Norman is and wants him to remain this way. He makes a vow to himself this night, to protect Norman from the rest of the world, so that no one will ever harm his son again.

 

##  *********

 

**~ The next day ~**

Norman Gold wakes in his bed at 12 o'clock Tuesday afternoon. He's used to his father yelling at him to get ready for school, but that didn't happen today. He hops out of bed and there's a slight pain in his right ankle, but he thinks nothing of his. It doesn't really hurt at all. He has woken up with aches on his body, many times, that he doesn't remember ever getting. He goes down to the kitchen and makes himself a bowl of cereal, never giving Malcolm Gold a second thought. Norman sits at the table and eats his stale bowl of marshmallow cereal, trying to finished before his father rears his ugly head, but suddenly he stops eating.

"Are you alright, Laddie." Papa makes Norman drop the spoon in the bowl. He needs to know what he remembers.

"Yes, Papa, I'm f-f-fine." Norman picks up the spoon and eats more cereal.

"Do you remember what happened yesterday?" Papa asks with a mouth full of food.

He chews and swallows the hard sugary bits. "N-n-nothing happened yesterday." Norman scoots the bowl away from himself, suddenly losing his appetite. "Nothing ever h-h-happens." He lowers his head, thinking about the misery in which he lives.

Papa slowly lifts his head. He can tell Norman remembers nothing. His memory clouded his brief state of complete insanity and only Papa knows the truth of what happened. He was the only one there afterwards "But something did happen."

"W-w-what happened?" Norman starts to panic. "And why can't I r-r-remember?" 

"Calm down, Laddie." Papa places his right hand over the left, as if he’s calming his son’s fidgety nerves. "I don't know why you can't, but I remember.... He's gone."

Norman jumps up from his seat, knocking the chair to the floor. "What?"

"You heard me, Norman."

Norman flies out of the kitchen, searching the house for Malcolm, expecting him to be found passed out somewhere, but Norman never finds him. Just as Norman is about to check the bathroom at the head of the stairs, Papa stops him as he tries to opens the door.

"You don't have to keep looking for him, Laddie." He drop his hand from the door knob. "He's really gone. I saw him leave."

Norman turns away from the door and sits at the top of the stairs. "R-r-really?"

"Yes, son. I wouldn't lie to you about this."

A breeze of relief sweeps over Norman, it's a feeling he haven't felt since the day he met Papa, and a lonely tear falls to Norman's cheek.

The child has never felt so free.

"What happened t-t-to him, Papa?"

"You know he never wanted you. I've told you many times that a day like this might come and it did. He just left you." It breaks Papa's heart to lie to Norman like this. After he said he never would, but this is a necessary lie. All to protect his son.

"You were r-r-right."

"Yes, I was right." He wipes the tear from Norman's cheek. "Now I'm going to take care of you and I will never let anyone hurt you again."

"D-d-do you promise, Papa?"

"Yes, Norman. I promise. It's just going to be us for the rest of our lives."

More tears fall from Norman's eyes and Papa wipes them away.

"I know he hated you and never loved you, but it's okay to miss him."

"I don't m-m-miss him. I'm happy he's gone."

A smiles curls upon Papa's face. He's proud of Norman for taking this situation so well. "Good." Papa stands from the staircase and limps down the steps.

Papa's gimpy walk isn't the result of the minor injury he suffered last night. It's the result of a greater emotional injury, which he wears as a physical one. Papa's ankle started to feel better hours after the body fell on him, but he continues to walk with a limp. He walks this way as a reminder of his failure to protect his son and not being there when he needed him most. Now he's done it for so long, he can't walk any other way.

"Papa?" Norman asks, stopping at the foot of the stairs. "Are you alright? You're l-l-limping?"

"I'll be okay, son. It will probably heal up in a couple of days."

All of a sudden there's a knock on the front door and Papa answers it, finding Regina on the other side.

"Norman!" She smiles at the sight of him. She didn't see him at school and decided to check in on him on her lunch break. She feels bad for the way the other kids treat him and wants to make an attempt at being his friend. "I thought you were going to be at school today."

Papa frowns at the girl, twitching his upper lip. He knows that she'll hurt his son in some way or another and Norman is too fragile right now to deal with more heartache. "Norman isn't here and don't come back!" He slams the door in her face.

Regina is confused and hurt by his rude and strange behavior, but she isn't going to stay where she's not wanted, so she quickly leaves.

"Papa, why d-d-did you do that?" Norman tries to open the door and Papa falls back against it. "Papa, th-th-that girl is in my math class. She probably had h-h-homework or something."

Papa lowers his brow. "No she didn't," he speaks through his teeth.

"How d-d-do you know?"

"Because I know and don't argue with me about it," he roars.

"Yes." Norman lowers his head.

"You don't need girls, Norman," he says calmer and steps away from the door. "Remember what I told you about them?"

Norman nods to agree. He tries to remember everything Papa tells him.

"You don't need her or anyone else to be your friend. They're just going to hurt you like Malcolm did." He tells his son what he truly believes and what he thinks is the right thing to do. He see no other choice. "You have me. I'm all you need. I'm your father now, your real and only father."

"Yes, Papa. I know th-th-that."

"Good... Because a boy's best friend is his father."

 

##  ***~*~*~*~***

**~ Present day ~**

"I love you so much, Belle." Robert Gold involuntary confesses as he rolls off of Belle to the other side of the bed, panting and trying to catch his breath.

Belle’s eyes widen in shock at his unexpected confession. She waits several minutes for her speech and breath to return to her, and when they do, she makes sure of what he spoke. "What was that? Did you just say you loved me?"

"Yes." Robert is still in bliss from the roughest sex of his life.

"Shit!" Belle instantly sits up. She didn’t have time to enjoy the afterglow feeling of her orgasm. "You can’t say that." She throws herself back in the bed. "Shit!" She covers her face.

“I can’t say what, Sweetheart?” He’s finally coherent enough to know what’s going on.

“You can’t say that you love me.”

“But I didn’t.”

“Yes you did.”

He tries to remember if that’s really what he said and he does. “Shit.” His heart sinks to the pit of his stomach. That speech filter that seems to always disappear when it comes to saying things about Belle, just picked one of the worst time to go. “I’m sorry, Belle.”

Robert's words brought the only fear she had about having sex with him to the light. “You were wrong in thinking that I would regret having sex with you, because I don’t regret it at all and I had a lot of fun.”

“I’m glad you don’t regret it.” He rolls over next to her, resting his head on her shoulder. “I’m happy to be wrong, because there’s nothing to regret.”

“I feel guilty instead.”

Robert rolls back onto his back and looks up at the ceiling. “Fuck.” He sits up and starts collecting his clothes. “I’m gonna go.” He puts on his black button down shirt.

“Yes, I think that’s best.”

“Alright.” He limps to the other side of the bed and picks up his cane. “I’ll see you later, Sweetheart.” He kisses the crown of her head and steps into his pants.

Belle sits up and takes a deep breath, sighing out, “Bye.” She watches him close the door, then she bends over the side of the bed and picks up her nightgown.

Robert Gold makes it to the top of the staircase and pauses, taking in a deep breath. He drops his cane and it crashes to the bottom of the stairs. He blinks hard, quickly turns around and returns to the bedroom.

He enters the room and finds Belle pulling off the sheets and blankets. “Belle?”

She looks to the doorway and the soft innocent face of her husband is gazing back at her. “Norman?” Her eyes grow wide with shock. She loves Norman and missed him dearly, but he picked one hell of a time to come back.

“Yes, D-d-dearie.” He smiles shyly and glimpses down at the floor. “I’m s-s-sorry.”

“Fuck.” Belle wasn't quite ready for this. She knew this day would come, but she didn't think it would happen the instant after she chose to sleep with Robert. Now, she feels even more guilt. Norman didn't just leave her physically, he left her emotionally as well and after everything she just lived through, she needed to make a connection with someone and Robert was there. But this doesn't mean that she loves or missed Norman any less. "Come here, Sweetie." She holds her arms out to him.

Norman rushes to her open embrace and hugs her tightly. "I m-m-missed you so much."

"I missed to too, Norman."

He pulls out of the hug and kisses his wife for the first time in a week. He breathes her into him, delighting in her taste. She parts her lips and he sips his tongue inside, exploring her mouth like it's the very first time.

Belle breaks off his passionate kiss, licking her lips. He tastes different than Robert and she was just reminded of how much she truly missed him, but savoring his flavor on her lips is not the reason she stopped his kiss."Sweetie." She combs her fingers through his hair. "You need to sit down, because we have to talk."

"I know and I'm s-s-so sorry for leaving you." He beams at her with sad apologetic eyes.

"We do need to talk about that." She takes his hand and guides him to sit next to her on the bed. "There's something more important that needs to be discussed first."

"Well, what is it, D-d-dearie?"

She squeezes his hand, taking a deep breath and tell her husband the truth. "Something happened yesterday, Sweetie... Something horrible... And Robert protected us all." 


End file.
